353.5 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 


JAMES  GRAFTON  ROGERS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Neil  C.  Needham 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 


J^Goldenrod  Lode 

<iA  Frontier  'Drama  in  Verse 

Written  for  The  Cactus  Club  of  Denver,  by 

James  Grafton  Rogers  and  performed 

by  The  Club  in  its  outdoor  theatre 

in  the  Rocky  Mountains, 

September  4,  1920 


PRINTED  FOR  THE  CACTUS  CLUB,  DENVER  :  1920 


Copyright,  1921 

by 
The  Cactus  Club 


?s 


FOREWORD 

DURING  the  early  days  of  the  gold  excite 
ment  in  Colorado,  when  prospectors 
tramped  the  hills  and  valleys  with  frenzied, 
ceaseless  energy,  scratching  at  likely  cliffs  and 
outcrops,  or  scooping  up  the  sands  of  stream- 
beds,  there  was  a  legend  that  somewhere  lay  a 
great  vein  of  pure  gold  which,  could  one  but 
find  it,  would  make  the  finder  fabulously  rich  — 


"A  mother-lode,  whose  merest  sweepings  poured 
Across  the  canon-brim  like  stars  that  fell 
To  feed  the  placers." 


This  legend  was  so  widely  current  as  to  be 
the  driving  force  behind  months  and  years  of 
painful,  tireless  searching.  The  yellow  flakes 
in  the  pan  were  but  auguries  of  hope  soon  to 
be  realized.  Yet  no  one  found  the  vein,  and  so 
the  legend  grew  that  beavers  had  hidden  the 
magic  vein  beneath  the  waters  of  their  pool, 
and  thus  concealed  it  from  the  eye  of  man. 
This  romantic  legend  is  the  framework  of 
"The  Goldenrod  Lode,"  written  for  the  Cactus 
Club  by  James  Graf  ton  Rogers,  and  performed 


by  the  Club  at  its  Mountain  Theatre  on  the 
evening  of  September  4th,  1920. 

The  beauty  of  this  open  air  theatre  lent  itself 
most  naturally  to  romance.  Two  small  streams 
flowed  from  densely  wooded  hills  and  mur 
muring  across  the  stage,  sank  into  the  silence 
of  a  beaver  pool.  A  log  cabin  with  its  oiled 
paper  window,  a  rough  sawbuck  by  the  door, 
sooty  pots  and  kettles  and  a  tripod  by  the  smoke 
stained  rocks,  gave  the  hint  of  human  oc 
cupancy. 

The  stage  was  dark  when  the  play  com 
menced  save  for  the  glow  of  the  fireflies  which 
flitted  here  and  there  among  the  pines  and 
hovered  where  the  streams  had  bathed  the 
banks  with  moisture.  Soft  woodland  music 
filled  the  air,  and  gave  background  to  the  chant 
ing  voices  of  the  trees.  When  fireflies,  music 
and  voices  ceased,  the  audience  became  aware 
of  the  dim  outlines  of  the  stage  in  the  half 
light,  which  grew  in  intensity  as  the  play 
progressed  until  when  the  camp  fire  was 
kindled,  the1  surrounding  spruce  trees  were 
tinged  with  a  warm  and  ruddy  glow.  During 
the  long  dialogue  between  Goldenrod  and  the 
Boy,  the  fire  was  allowed  to  sink  and  leave  the 
audience  totally  unprepared  for  the  shock  of 
the  forest  fire  whose  terrifying  glare  crim- 


soned  the  eddying  clouds  of  smoke  and  sil 
houetted  the  trees  against  the  background  of 
flames.  Then  the  stage  was  deluged  with  rain, 
giving  the  impression  of  a  widespread  and 
heavy  downpour.  The  forest  fire  sputtered  out. 
All  was  darkness  and  silence  again,  except  for 
the  fireflies,  music  and  the  chanting  forest 
voices. 

To  the  historian,  in  retrospect,  it  is  difficult 
to  say  that  the  play  was  the  climax  of  the  eve 
ning.  It  was  an  integral  part  of  the  entertain 
ment  and  fitted  so  perfectly  into  the  scheme  of 
things  that  the  memory  of  that  autumn  eve 
ning  in  the  hills  is  like  the  colors  of  sunset — 
all  blended  in  one  harmonious  whole.  In  the 
early  dusk  the  members  and  their  many  guests 
assembled  at  the  camping  ground  in  the  open 
space  above  the  theatre  where  on  grills  placed 
over  glowing  charcoal  fires  a  delicious  supper 
was  prepared. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  supper  was  over. 
Stars  glimmered  overhead  or  beckoned  from 
behind  the  trees  that  topped  the  surrounding 
mountain  sides.  It  was  time  for  the  play. 

When  the  play  was  over,  we  straggled  up  the 
path  again  to  the  camp  site.  A  large  camp  fire 
was  lighted,  about  which  we  gathered.  Songs 
were  started,  and  stories  told.  Time  was  for- 


gotten.  It  was  well  past  midnight  when  the 
last  of  our  guests  had  departed  and  the  few 
hardy  souls  who  remained  had  left  the  glow 
ing  embers  for  the  warmth  of  their  blanket 
rolls. 

The  fire  light  died,  but  not  so  the  memory 
of  that  evening.  With  each  of  us  there  re 
mained  a  bit  of  precious  romance  from  "The 
Goldenrod  Lode." 

K.  G.  B. 
December,  1920. 


CAST 

(With  the  players  and  staff  of  September  4,  1920) 
The  characters  in  the  order  they  appear: 

Duke,  an  English  ne'er-do-well E.  I.  Thompson 

Otero,  a  Mexican  teamster John  S.  Barrows 

Pinto,  an  express  rider Hugh  McLean 

The   Sheriff,   a   frontier   saloonkeeper 

Forrest    Rutherford 

Sonny,  the  Sheriff's  son Clinton  Jansen 

Goldenrod,  a  prospector Robert  G.  Bosworth 

Voices  in  the  Spruce . . .  C.  S.  Stimson,  George  P.  Steele 


The  Scene  is  in  a  forest  in  the  Rocky 

Mountains,  about  1870. 
Incidental  Music  by  John  H.  Gower 


Director  of  Stage  Mechanics  and  Camp 

Fred  Wilson  Hart 

Chief  of  Stage  Effects John  S.  Collbran 

Director  for  Music Irvin  J.  McCrary 

(  Dudley  Hart,  Edmund  B.  Rogers, 
Theatre  Staff       J   Burnham   Hoyt,   Reginald  Poland, 
|  Walter  C.  Mead. 

f  Fred  W.  Hart,  John  S.  Collbran, 
The  Campfire  J  Robert  G.  Bosworth,  Walker  Van 
Committee  j  Riper,  C.  H.  Hanington,  James 

I  Grafton  Rogers. 

„  (  Walker  Van   Riper,   Harold 

Finance  Committee       J  _ 

|  Kountze,  James  N.  Wright. 

Site  by  permission  of  G.  L.  Baird 


A  glade  in  a  spruce  forest  on  the  upper 
slopes  of  an  abrupt  canon  in  the  Rocky  Moun 
tains.  The  audience  faces  a  steep  hillside,  the 
ascending  terraces  of  which  are  smothered  in 
evergreen  growth  l>ut  are  betrayed,  as  time 
passes,  ~by  the  lights  and  voices  which  develop 
in  the  background.  Close  behind  the  audience, 
imagine  a  sudden  canon  cliff.  The  stage 
is  a  little  opening  formed  by  the  junction  of 
two  streams — the  larger  flowing  from  right  to 
left  between  the  players  and  the  observers,  the 
smaller  trickling  from  the  spruce-cloaked  back 
ground  over  little  waterfalls  directly  to  the 
center.  There,  between  the  audience  and  the 
stage,  a  beaver  colony  has  augmented  a  natural 
pool  by  means  of  a  mud-and-stick  dam.  A 
beaver-house  emerges  from  the  still  waters; 
the  chips  and  chewed  stumps  of  aspens  by  the 
stream  to  the  left.  To  the  right,  a  tiny  log 
cabin  with  sod  roof  built  into  the  bank.  The 
cabin  has  a  single  window  facing  the  audience, 
and  at  the  left  end  a  low  doorway,  into  which 
the  audience  cannot  see  but  from  which  a  candle 


12  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

light  can  glow  to  illuminate  the  gloom  of  the 
stage.  A  smoky  kettle  on  a  tripod,  a  woodpile, 
and  other  signs  of  a  crude  but  permanent  habi 
tation.  No  lights  now — dusk  and  silence.  Then 
many  fireflies,  their  glow  appearing  as  brief 
little  lights  swinging  low  in  short  arcs  of  their 
circling  flight  over  the  moist  ground.  Voices 
from  the  -flanking  spruce  trees,  chanting  to 
half -heard  music  like  the  sighing  of  needle- 
clad  boughs. 

AN  ELDEB  SPRUCE: 

Trim  spruce  and  young,  hark  and  give  tongue! 
Quicken  my  years  with  the  fresh  thoughts  you 

know! 

Envy,  do  you — as  I  did  in  the  ages  by — 
Motion  and  light  in  the  fireflies  below? 
Tell  me,  are  saplings  content  as  they  grow? 

A  YOUNGEB  SPRUCE: 

Chieftain  and  sire,  who  would  aspire, 

Dusky  and  stolid,  to  drink  and  to  parch 
Here  till  the  years  are  spent,  one  in  a  regiment — 

Mustered  forever,  but  never  to  march? 
Who  stands  content  with  a  rootlet  that  bars 
Fluttering  somewhere  with  fireflies  and  stars? 

ELDEB  SPRUCE: 

Saplings,  have  peace!     Decades  increase 

Wisdom  upon  us,  with  lichens  and  tears. 
Fireflies  that  spark  and  fly  over  the  ferns,  to  die, 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  13 

Long  for  the  might  of  our  roots  and  our  years. 
Living  is  longing,  and  fireflies  are  part 
Of  a  twilight  where  hands  should  not  reach  with 
the  heart! 

'The  music  dies  with  the  voice. 

(A.  lantern  glimmers  here  and  there  in  the  back 
ground;  the  fireflies  diminish  in  number,  and 
then  are  gone.  A  shadowy  figure  slips  down  the 
bank  to  the  left,  onto  the  stage,  stealthily  ex 
plores  the  stage  and  cabin,  finds  everything 
deserted,  and,  with  his  back  to  the  audience, 
whistles  a  bird-call  into  the  background.  It  is 
repeated  in  answer,  and  three  other  figures — 
two  carrying  lanterns,  one  a  flaming  piece  of 
pitch  pine — slip  from  the  background  and  the 
left  bank  into  the  center  of  the  stage,  with  sub 
dued  words  to  some  hidden  horses  and  the 
jingle  of  spurs.  The  lights  reveal  them  as  a 
group  of  frontiersmen.  The  first  to  enter  Is 
the  DUKE — a  young  man  in  the  shabby  rem 
nants  of  English  sporting  styles,  a  checked  cap, 
and  a  hunting-coat.  The  SHERIFF  is  a  bulky 
man  of  fifty,  with  only  a  vest  over  his  soiled 
shirt-sleeves,  boots,  a  diamond  pin  without  a 
necktie,  and  a  flavor  of  the  bar-room.  PINTO  is 
a  boyish  express  rider,  with  a  wide  sombrero, 
white  "chaps,"  a  brilliant  bandana,  and  an 
arsenal — all  in  proper  Wild  West  style,  and 
immaculate.  The  fourth  is  a  Mexican  teamster, 
OTERO,  in  beaded  and  fringed  leather.) 


14  THE  GOLDENKOD  LODE 

DUKE: 

This  is  the  place;    His  cabin's  yonder. 
Blame  your  own  stupidity!     Lord,  every  lame 
Old  partridge  on  the  highlands  plays  us  so 
To  hide  a  nest! 

PINTO: 

Sure!     But  an  hour  ago 

He  climbed  Sheep  Mountain.    Why  in  blazes  pack 
Up  timberline  to  reach  a  little  shack 
Here  by  the  canon? 

SHERIFF: 

'Cause  it  works,  you  fool! 

Two  winters  now  he's  shook  me  there  to  cool 
Myself  in  fallen  timber. 

DUKE: 

And  again 

Invent  some  penny  thriller  to  explain 
Your  absence  to  the  town,  and  then  go  deal 
Your  faro  crookeder  than  last,  and  feel 
Your  stacking  even!     Sheriff,  dear  old  chap, 
Your're  quite  pathetic! 

SHERIFF: 

Shut  your  trap 

For  once,  Duke!     Where's  the  boy?     I  told  him: 

"Hide 

Along  the  ledge  awhile,  and  we  will  ride 
Ahead  and  find  the  lode  that  old  galoot 
Is  workin'!"    But  I  sez:  "God  blame  you!     Scoot 
And  tell  us  when  he  comes!"    He  can't  be  more 
'N  half  an  hour  behind  by  now. 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  15 

PINTO : 

He  tramps  for  sure — 

As  fast  as  a  cayuse  can  lope. 

DUKE: 

No  mine 

In  sight! 

SHERIFF: 

The  cabin? 

DUKE: 

Searched  it.    Not  a  sign 

Of  mineral! 

SHERIFF: 

Peculiar! 

DUKE: 

To  my  mind 

Peculiar  hell!     Who'd  calculate  to  find 

A  Bank  of  England,  with  a  safety-vault 

To  hold  his  nuggets?    He's  the  kind  that'd  salt 

Their  yellows  in  a  gopher-hole. 

PINTO  : 

But,  Duke, 

A-reck'nin'  by  the  specimens  he's  brought 

To  town  these  last  ten  autumns,  there  had  ought 

To  be  a  hole  as  big  as  Hades  where  he  dug. 

SHERIFF: 

Sure,  Pinto!     But  his  cache  is  buried  snug. 
DUKE: 

Oh,  he  could  hide  the  diggin's  sure  enough! 


16  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

SHERIFF: 

Now,  hearken,  boys!     I  calculate  that  bluff 
Takes  more  in  pots  than  cards.    When  that  galoot 
Appears,  you  all  just  take  to  brush  and  let 
Me  shuffle  up  the  deck. 

SONNY:    (A  voice  in  the  dark,  left  background.) 

SONNY: 

O  Dad! 

PINTO: 

I'll  bet 

He's  comln'! 

SHERIFF  (to  the  voice): 

Hush,  you  varmint,  or  I'll  scalp 
You!  Well? 

SONNY: 

But,  Dad,  I  couldn't  hardly  help 

To  holler!     He  is  comin'! 

DUKE: 

Where? 

He's  just 
Across  the  ledge. 

SHERIFF: 

Clear  out,  then! 

(They  extinguish  their  lights.) 

DUKE: 

If  you  cussed 

A  grown  man  as  you  do  that  boy,  he'd  line 
You  full  of  buckshot. 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  17 

SHERIFF: 

What  I  do  to  mine 

'S  my  own.    Hide  out,  the  lot  of  you! 
(They  disappear  in  the  dusk  in  various  directions.) 

(Ooldenrod,  with  faded  flowers  in  his  hat,  a  staff 
in  his  hand,  a  pack,  and  an  appearance  of  being 
at  the  end  of  a  long  tramp,  comes  down  the 
hillside  to  the  left.  He  is  a  prospector  of  about 
fifty,  his  hair  a  little  grizzled,  his  person  not 
unkempt,  but  somehow  individual.  His  speech 
is  somewhat  book-learned.  He  pauses  to  ap 
praise  the  glade,  comes  down  to  the  fire-embers 
in  the  center,  and  then  speaks  in  a  burst  of 
relief.) 

GOLDENBOD : 

Home  again,  home,  where  every  shadow  spreads 
A  warmed  familiar  blanket,  and  the  heads 
Of  ancient  spruces  nod,  with  just  the  look 
That  granddads,  dozing  in  a  chimney  nook, 
Give  some  belated  son!     So,  home  again, 
From  one  more  venture  to  the  dens  of  men, 
While  all  my  aspens  flutter  in  delight, 
And  titter,  sister-like.    And  these  sweet  hills 
Once  more  secrete  me  in  their  gorgeous  frills 
And  petticoats,  as  those  gigantic  maidens  did 
Old  Gulliver.     Forgotten  I  am  hid. 
They  will  unfold  their  garments  one  by  one, 
And  change  to  fur  when  autumn  yellow's  done, 
And,  from  white  fur,  try  shyly  on  the  tint 


18  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

Of  summer.  For,  until  their  brown  frocks  hint 
The  wardrobe's  all  displayed,  no  storm  or  need 
Can  break  my  shelter  here. 

(He  unloads  his  pack  by  the  water  edge,  takes  a 
handful  of  nuggets  from  his  belt,  and,  kneeling, 
casts  the  pieces  one  by  one  into  the  beaver 
pond.) 

See,  beaver  men! 

My  comrades,  water-treasurers,  again 
I  give  you  back  this  yellow,  stony  stuff 
I  borrowed.    For  one  nugget  was  enough 
To  set  the  town  tongues  buzzing,  and  to  buy 
The  wants  I  had:  a  pair  of  shoes — for  I 
Can  never  make  them,  struggling  as  I  do — 
Salt,  and  some  silly  things,  and  then  these  two 
Grave,  worn  old  books  the  schoolmaster  had  got 
From  Omaha  by  ox-train.    And  the  lot — 
Hark,  beaver-men! — for  that  pack-load  of  skill 
And  toil,  and  then,  besides,  two  books  that  fill 
Your  heart  with  wise  and  sweet  old  thoughts — for  all, 
One  rusty  fragment  from  your  waterfall! 

(He  rises.) 

No,  it  bought  more.    For  darker  every  year 
Their  glances  grow;  and  in  the  streets  I  hear 
Threats.    And  I  dodge,  like  some  poor  cotton-tail — 
Scurty  for  miles,  or  lurk  to  hide  the  trail 
From  greedy  followers. 

(At  the  cabin  door.) 

But  for  another  year 
Our  trust  is  kept — my  path  is  straight  and  clear! 


THE  GOLDENKOD  LODE  19 

(He  hangs  Ms  pack  by  the  cabin  door  and,  with 
a  parting  survey  of  the  grove,  enters.  The  can 
dle-light  brightens  the  window  of  oiled  paper, 
and  a  beam  from  the  door  picks  out  the  little 
waterfalls  above  the  cabin.  The  figures  of  the 
Sheriff  and  his  companions  slip  into  the  stage 
from  various  directions.  With  them  comes 
Sonny,  a  boy  of  about  sixteen,  lame  and  with 
one  crude  crutch.  He  is  the  Sheriff's  son  whose 
voice  was  heard  before.) 

SHEBIFF: 
What  did  he  say?    Who  heard  him? 

PINTO : 

All  I  got 

Was  somethin'  'bout  his  grandpa,  and  a  lot 

Of  talk  about  some  skirts — like  Duke  here  spills 

When  he  is  soberin'  up. 

SHERIFF: 

And  then  he  fills 

His  tin  cup  at  the  creek,  and  talks  fcome  more. 
But  what  he  said  I  couldn't  tell  for  sure. 

PINTO : 

He  says  about  his  sister.     Seems  to  be 

Some  women  folks  around.    Now,  as  for  me 

DUKE: 

Shades  of  Bill  Shakespeare!     Pinto,  rocks  and  trees 
Are  his  relations.    Those  were  similes. 


20  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

SHERIFF: 
What's  similes? 

He  called  the  trees,  you  know, 
His  sisters — like  an  actor  in  a  show. 

OTEBO: 
No  le  comprendo! 

SHERIFF:  Duke  lg  right  enough! 

He's  talking  to  himself.    It's  loco  stuff! 
OTEBO: 

He's  loco!    Ah! 

Sure,  like  they  always  get 
Batchin'  alone  in  mountains.    But  I'll  bet 
He'll  hark  to  reason  quick  enough.    You  three 
Round  up  the  doorway,  gentle-like,  and  me — 
I'll  make  a  rumpus  like  a  porcupine 
A-gnawin'  his  cabin;  and  he'll  know  the  sign, 
And  come  a-scoutin';  but  he'll  never  stop 
To  bring  his  weapon.    Then  you  up  and  drop 
And  rope  him,  and  I'll  guess  he'll  testify 
Regardin'  this  bonanza,  or  I'll  try 
A  few  of  these  here  similes  and  such. 

DUKE: 

Rough  on  our  Shakespeare!  But  he  smells  too  much 
Of  nuggets  for  a  poet.    I  am  in, 
My  gentle  Sheriff! 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  21 

Sure,  but  what  we  win 
Is  split  four  ways,  it's  understood. 

SHEBIFF:  It  .g; 

And  what  old  Goldenrod  can  keep  is  his! 

(The  Sheriff  slips  to  the  back  of  the  cabin.  The 
Boy  hides  at  the  left.  The  others  hide  in  the 
shadows  around  the  door.  The  Sheriff  grinds 
softly  against  the  wall — like  a  porcupine  gnaw 
ing  some  greasy  board.  The  light  in  the  cabin 
stirs,  and  Goldenrod,  bareheaded,  with  tallow 
dip  and  a  book  in  his  hand,  steps  out  of  the 
door.) 

GOLDENBOD : 

Old  prickle-back,  you're  at  the  bench  once  more 

A-gnawin',  I  suppose,  at  where  I  pour 

The  tallow.     Well,  vamoose!     Go  mark  your  signs 

Of  greedy,  slow  destruction  on  the  pines — 

The  littlest  pines!     The  trees  old  nature  mends. 

I  mend  the  candle-molds.    Now  he  pretends 

He's  contrite.     There,  vamoose! 

(There  is  a  struggle  in  the  dark,  the  light  falling 
and  sputtering  out.  It  is  quite  dark.  Golden- 
rod  is  held  by  the  Duke,  Pinto  and  Otero,  and 
brought  to  the  left  away  from  the  cabin.  The 
boy  takes  no  part.) 

SHERIFF: 

Otero,  stir  the  campfire!     Our  soiree 
With  this  here  social  leader  needs  some  day. 


22  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

(Otero  comes  down  to  fire  embers,  and  stirs  them 
to  flame.) 

DUKE  (to  Goldenrod): 

Your  pardon,  partner,  but  a  simple  mind 
Adopts  this  manly  address,  lest  It  find 
You  armed.    Your  shootln'-lron? 
(Goldenrod  shakes  his  head  silently.) 

He's  got  no  gun. 
SHERIFF; 

Close  up!     I'll  do  the  talking — that  what's  done. 
Old-timer,  I'm  the  porcupine  that  you 
Was  worryin'  nature  over,  and  a  few 
Of  them  remarks  about  him  fits. 

DUKE  (reflectingly) :  They  do 

SHERIFF: 

These  gents  have  congregated,  you'll  surmise, 

Prepared  to  swing  a  minin'  enterprise. 

The  syndicate  is  pleased  to  have  you  jine 

And  work  your  share — five  shares  there'll  be — and 

sign 

Up  with  us.    But  subscription's  goin'  to  close 
Right  smart,  immediate,  and  yonder  goes 
A  trail  for  them  whose  natures  don't  dispose. 
You're  sociable?    You're  in? 

GOLDENBOD  (slyly):  Where  ,g  tne  lode? 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  23 

a 

PINTO  (excitedly): 

That's  what  we  want  to  know.    I've  rode 
All  over 

SHEBIFF:  Pinto,  close  your  face! !     I'll  do 

This  business.    Oh,  we  know  the  mine  where  you 
Get  them  young  gold-bricks.    All  you  need  to  say 
Is:  "I'm  agreeable."    Or,  the  other  way, 
You  get  till  moonrise  to  pull  stakes.    We've  got 
The  mine  located. 

GOLDENROD:  Wag  .<.  you>  Qne  ^ 

Day,  when  I  was  down  panning  in  the  creek, 
Started  a  gravel  slip  and  took  a  sneak 
Off  through  the  aspens? 

Sure!  The  Duke  can  tell- 
Now,  can't  you,  Duke? — how  near  it  was  you  fell 
Over  the  gravel  bluff. 

DUKE: 

Convinced  I  can. 
PINTO : 
Why,  Duke,  I 

SHERIFF  (silencing  Pinto  abruptly): 

Sure  he  did. 
GOLDENROD  (realistically):  And  rain  began 

Once  while  I  worked  the  placer,  and  I  heard 
A  pony  snort,  and  on  the  ridge  a  bird 
Squawked  an  alarm.    You,  too? 


24  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

SHERIFF:  A  whlgky  jack? 

I  reckon  Pinto  scared  it,  hurryin'  back 
That  cloudburst  time.    I  reckon  you'll  agree 
We  seen  your  cards? 

GOLDENBOD:  Wen   go  u  seems  tQ  bfi 

There  are  no  diggings,  then,  as  you  must  know — 
No  golden  Eden  tree  where  nuggets  grow. 
I  have  no  treasure-pile.    I  scour  the  hills 
Winter  and  summer,  and  a  year  scarce  fills 
My  pouch  with  color.    And  when  autumn's  red, 
Because  my  bag  is  heavy,  you're  misled 
By  that  one  sight  of  me — that  one  display 
For  which  I've  spent  a  toiling  year — and  say 
You  must  waylay  me  when  I  come  away. 
I  have  no  buried  talents — only  hope. 
Forget  me! 

OTEBO  (indicating  a  tree  branch): 

Ah,  Sefior!     The  rope! 

DUKE  (disgusted):  A 

.A  rope 

Will  find  no  diggings. 

Where  there  ain't!  Correct! 
Sheriff,  I  allus  said,  you'll  recollect, 
The  pot  is  nothing  when  the  ante's  high. 

DUKE  (crossing  to  the  Sheriff): 
Corral  that  pouch  of  his.    If  that  is  dry, 
His  yarn  is  plausible.    He  dreams  too  well 
To  have  much  gold  about  him. 


THE  GOLDENKOD  LODE  25 

SHEBIFF: 

Stranger,  shell 

Us  out  those  nuggets  that  you  brought  to  town! 
GOLDENKOD: 

One's  In  the  pouch  there,  where  I  laid  it  down 
Upon  the  bookshelf,  where  the  volumes  preach 
The  folly  of  it.    But  the  volumes  each 
Took  gold  to  buy  them.    Shall  I  go? 

SHERIFF: 

Hold  up! 

Go  get  it,  Pinto! 

(Pinto  goes  into  the  cabin  and  returns  to  the 
doorstep  with  the  "bag  in  his  hand.) 

GOLDENBOD : 

All  the  other  rust 

I  had  I  spent  among  you.    Some  small  dust, 
And  one  more  pebble — yellow  like  a  star, 
But  cold,  and  staring  as  stars  never  are. 

SHEBIFF: 
Well,  Pinto! 

PINTO : 

As  he  said,  one  piece  of  luck 

Worth  fifty  dollars.    God,  I  never  struck 

A  lead  that  petered  out  like  this!     I'm  through — 

Except  maybe  a  little  boot  or  two 

To  pay  this  blamed  deceiving  old  galoot 

What's  comin'  to  him! 

(Otero  draws  his  pistol  menacingly  at  Goldenrod.) 


26  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

DUKE: 

Pinto,  that  white  brute 

Of  yours  Is  half-way  back  to  town  by  now. 

SHERIFF: 

And  teachin'  all  the  other  ponies  how 
To  strip  their  bridles. 

SONNY: 

No,  I  hobbled  him, 

And  tied  the  balance,  Dad,  along  a  limb. 

DUKE: 

Sonny,  you're  even  with  your  dad.    He  strung 
Us  all  out  on  a  limb — himself  among 
The  rest.    I'm  through. 

PINTO: 

I'm  through,  except  to  do 

One  little  dooty. 

(He  is  about  to  "belt  Goldenrod,  when  Otero  whis 
pers  in  his  ear.    He  stops.    To  Otero) : 

Would  it  run  this  way? 
I  reckon  so,  Otero.    Anyway, 
Let's  trampas.    Duke? 

SHEBIFF  (thoughtfully):    , 

You're  through?     Your  sat 
isfied? 
DUKE: 

Not  satisfied,  but  through!     Clear  through!     Beside, 
We're  keeping  Goldenrod  awake,  my  friend! 


THE  GOLDENKOD  LODE  27 

(The  Duke,  Otero  and  Pinto  scramble  up  the  hill 
'behind  the  cabin  into  the  woods.  The  Sheriff 
follows  them  out,  deliberately,  studying 
Goldenrod.  The  boy  disappears.  The  Duke 
starts  a  song.  Otero  and  Pinto  join  in,  their 
voices  dying  as  they  get  farther  away.) 
I've  got  a  pony,  and  his  name  is  Luck! 

Whoa,  pony,  whoa! 
His  gaits  are  tony,  but  he's  wild  to  buck — 

Whoa,  pony,  whoa! 

There's  some  can  ride  him  like  a  rockin'-horse. 
I'm  pullin'  leather,  but  I'm  off,  o'  course! 
It  don't  take  nothin'  much  to  divorce 
Me  and  my  Luck! 

GOLDENBOD  (left  to  himself): 

Gods  of  the  hills!     Sometimes  a  man  must  pray — 
Christian  or  infidel — when  flames,  that  play 
Close  to  his  heart-wood,  sink  and  turn  away. 
Sometimes! — when  earthquakes  test  the  masonry 
Of  his  life's  mission,  and  he  shouts  to  see 
The  corner  stones  and  turrets  firm  and  tried. 
Gods!     I  have  heard  your  hushed  departing  stride 
Upon  the  hills!     I  know  not  what  you  are, 
But  I  have  heard  you  breathing,  and  afar 
The  stern,  white  peaks  stand  up  in  majesty 
Uncommon  to  my  hereabouts  and  me! 
Gods  of  the  woods!     Whatever  gods  there  be 
Themselves  have  saved  the  charge  they  gave  to  me. 

(Recovering  himself) 
Feel  how  the  woods  like  water  seem  to  close 


28  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

Around  this  sin-whipped  vortex,  and  Repose 
Floats  in  again — as  still  Ophelia  went, 
Drifting  along  that  brook  where  willows  bent. 

SONNT  (from  the  wooded  bank  at  the  left) : 
Old  Mr.  Goldenrod? 

GOLDENBOD  (startled):    What.g  that? 

(After  a  pause,  breathlessly)  : 
^ko Who's  there? 

SONNY  (entering  from  the  left): 
Mr.  Goldenrod? 

GOLDENBOD:  (aside)  Someone  to  tear 

My  wounds  part  healing,  half -allayed! 

(Answering) : 
They  call  me  Goldenrod,  my  boy! 

SONNY:  They  call 

You  that  because  you  come  to  town  at  fall, 
Like  goldenrod  along  the  rocky  flat, 
With  nuggets,  and  you've  blossoms  in  your  hat. 
I  did  not  know  it  hurt  to  call  you  so. 
I'm  sorry. 

GOLDENBOD:     Qh   It,g  nofc  the  name,     why  gQ 
Away  with  all  the  others,  but  return? 

SONNT: 

I  did  not  want  my  Dad  and  Duke  to  learn 
I  talked  to  you. 


THE  GOLDENKOD  LODE  29 

GOLDENBOD: 

You  are  the  Sheriff's  son? 

SONNY: 

Yes,  so  he  calls  me.    But  the  Duke,  and  one 
Or  two,  say  maybe  not. 

GOLDENKOD : 

It's  late  at  night. 

The  timber's  full  of  noises.  Shadows  fight 
And  frighten  up  the  birds  among  the  pine. 
Better  ride  home! 

SONNY: 

I  know  about  your  mine, 

And  I  rode  back  so  I  could  ask  you  why 
You're  different  from  the  folks  in  town,  and  try 
To  hide  it,  like  a  blackbird  hides  a  nest, 
Limpin'  away  and  frightened-like.    The  rest 
All  make  a  holler  when  they've  made  a  strike, 
And  buy  the  drinks  at  Dad's.    You  acted  like 
I  used  to,  playin'  pirate,  hidin'  stuff 
Nobody  wanted. 

GOLDENBOD: 

Son,  we're  like  enough! 

There  is  no  mine — no  gold  worth  robbing  me! 
What  gold  I  glean 

SONNY  (starting  away): 

I  thought  maybe 

You  wouldn't  rag  to  me  when  Dad's  away. 
Maybe  the  Duke  can  answer  why  you  play 
Pirate  and  train  the  beaver-folks  to  build 
Over   the   pay-lode. 


30  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

Hush,  not  so  loud!  What  filled 
Your  mind  with  such  a  story?     Boy,  come  back! 
The  beaver  builds  for  no  man,  as  you  know! 
No  one  could 

Goldenrod,  I  saw  you  throw 
The  nuggets  by  the  beaver-house,  and  heard 
The  things  you  told  the  beavers — every  word! 
The  boys  were  yonder  In  the  scrub,  but  I'd 
Hid  nearer  here.    The  beavers,  they  replied; 
But  what  they  said  I  could  not  tell,  becuz' 
The  beavers  talk  just  like  the  water  does. 
Stranger,  don't  rag  to  me! 

GOLDENBOD:  Wait,  wait!    It's  true 

There  were  some  yellow  pebbles  that  I  threw 
Into  the  pool.    We'll  dredge  them  up,  and  you 
Shall  have  them,  if  you  never  tell  that  crew 
That  plagues  me. 

Oh,  there's  more  gold  there  beside! 
The  beavers  keep  the  rest.    And  you  have  tried 
To  mend  the  beaver-dam,  below  there — stopped 
A  break  with  logs  that  beavers  never  chopped. 

GOLDENBOD: 

Boy,  boy!     You  do  not  know  where  you  have  trod! 
SONNY: 

Know  where  I  go?    Oh,  Mr.  Goldenrod, 

I  do  not  want  the  nuggets.    Dad  would  take 

Them  all  away. 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  31 

GOLDENBOD  (to  himself,  his  hand  uncertainly  on  the 
'boy's  shoulder): 

How  gently  I  could  break 
This  fragile  frame!     How  tenderly  the  rain 
And  seasons  would  erase  it,  and  again 
Knit  up  their  silences  around  my  trust! 

SONNY: 
You  frighten  me! 

GOLDENBOD  (dreamily): 

My  groves,  my  comrades,  must 
This  pilgrimage  you  set  for  me  demand 
Destruction,  too? 

SONNY: 

Oh,  just  to  understand — 

That's  all  I  asked! 

GOLDENBOD: 

To  understand!     To  seal 

What  I  have  sealed!     To  know  and  not  reveal, 
Speechless  as  trees  when  I  beseech  their  speech! 
Lonely  as  hours  that  travel  space!     To  reach 
Such  understanding,  one  must  gather  years 
About  him,  numbered  like  the  bitter  spears 
On  these  dark  spruces. 

SONNY: 

Most  of  what  I  know 

Are  secrets — caves  and  nests  and  things  that  grow 
Hidden.    And  if  I  only  understood, 
I'd  likely  want  to  help  you. 


32  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

GOLDENBOD: 

What?     You  could? 

SONNY: 

I'd  lie  all  day  and  learn  beside  the  pool — 
Learn  beaver-talk.    And  I  could  steal  from  school 
Old  heavy  books,  like  those  you  come  to  buy. 

GOLDENBOD: 

And  I  could  teach  you  where  the  eagles  fly 
To  feed  their  nestlings  on  the  canon  wall, 
And  then,  when  my  old  fingers  let  it  fall, 
You'd  carry  on  the  torch. 

SONNY: 

The  torch? 

GOLDENROD: 

I  mean 

Relieve  the  sentinel.    Was  this  foreseen? 

Have  hill-gods  brought  you,  like  the  sheets  of  green 

Across  the  prairie  only  cloudbursts  bring? 

No  matter,  little  dreamer!     Everything 

Is  ventured  now.    Perhaps!     Perhaps! 

SONNY: 

I  still 

Don't  understand  about  the  torch. 

GOLDENKOD: 

You  will! 

And  if  the  hill-gods  sent  you,  you  will  learn 
To  garrison  my  fortress  in  your  turn; 
And  if  the  hill-gods  sent  you  not,  the  gods 
That  counsel  me  will  set,  in  Goldenrod's 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  33 

Extremity,  some  sign  upon  the  peaks 
To  guide  him. 

SONNY: 

Gods?  The  kind  of  thing  that  speaks 

Sometimes  inside  the  canon  when  you  call? 
I  know  a  place  where  they  will  answer — all 
Of  them. 

GOLDENROD • 

That  god  is  Echo.    He's  the  sprite 

Who  tries  to  lead  the  children  to  the  sight 
Of  greater  spirits.    Few  of  those  who  hear 
Him  follow. 

SONNY: 

I  have  tried.    Before  I'm  near 

He's  gone,  and  I  am  tired. 

GOLDENEOD: 

Well,  never  mind! 

If  I  can  teach  and  hold  you,  you  will  find 
Hushed  voices  everywhere.    Do  you  suppose, 
If  I  should  tell  you  secrets  no  one  knows 
But  beaver-men  and  me — none  anywhere — 
You'd  lock  it  up  forever,  till  your  hair 
Was  white  as  aspen  bark? 

SONNY: 

I  can!     I  will! 

GOLDENBOD : 

Then  listen!     Once  I  straggled  down  this  hill — 
In  April,  when  those  first  blue  blossoms  still 
Were  opening  their  eyes  behind  their  fur, 


34  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

Like  kittens,  scuddllng,  where  the  snow-banks  were, 

Against  a  huge,  white  mother.     Long  ago — 

Before  the  town  began  that  ugly  row 

Of  false-front  cabins  on  the  plains  below; 

Before  that  maple  shrub  was  high  enough 

To  hide  the  warbler's  nest;  before  the  rough, 

Wide  ox-trails  to  the  river  towns  were  made — 

I  came  to  prospect,  early,  young,  afraid 

Some  other  courtier  of  Mistress  Luck 

Would  strike  his  hammer  where  I  might  have  struck. 

Some  trace  of  usage,  or  a  wind  that  blew 

From  other  worlds,  enticed  and  led  me  through 

The  hidden  trail  you  found  along  the  ledge 

Tonight. 

SONNY: 

It's  like  a  stairway  down  the  edge 

Of  cliffs. 

GOLDENBOD: 

One  stair  to  this  green  gallery 

Led  out  into  the  canon  hall. 

SONNY : 

Were  we 

The  first  to  find  it  since  that  day?    Were  you 
The  first? 

GOLDENKOD: 

Oh,  no,  nor  those  who  last  passed  thru 

Before  me,  first!     For  here,  where  two 

Shy  waterways  crept  from  the  wood  and  grew 

Bolder  together,  was  spread  out  a  book 

Where  men  had  written  since  the  first  man  took 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  35 

The  drug  of  yellow  metal — here  to  read 

Pages  of  slaughter,  elegies  of  greed! 

I  stopped  upon  the  hillock.    Littered  here 

Were  heaps  of  chips  and  pebbles,  where,  by  sheer 

Force  of  their  finger-nails,  crude,  toolless  men 

Had  gnawed  the  mountain;  there  a  pit,  and  then 

Fire-smudge  and  camp-stains  everywhere;  that  hill 

A  kind  of  fortress,  hedged  with  stones,  and  still 

Half-garrisoned  with  Indian  bones. 

SONNY : 

They  all 

Had  gone? 

GOLDENROD: 

Had  gone.    But  how  unwillingly 

They  went.  Red  man  and  Spaniard,  trapper,  and,  last, 
One  wanderer  like  myself,  who  saw  and  cast 
His  hammer  in  the  pit;  and,  as  he  leaped 
To  follow  it,  some  hidden  bowmen  heaped 
Him,  tumbled  in  his  buckskin  rags,  asleep 
In  Eldorado. 

SONNY: 

Eldorado?    There? 

GOLDENEOD: 

Who  knows  if  Eldorado's  anywhere, 
Or,  like  the  rainbow  and  most  flawless  things, 
Just  built  from  longing  men's  imaginings? 
This  much  1  know,  that,  streaked  within  the  pit 
Where  men  had  pried  and  gouged  and  hammered  it 
For  ages,  there  was  gold!     Oh,  gold  enough 
To  topple  empires — seams  of  blood-stained  stuff 


36  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

That  cheapened  Ophir  and  would  leave  mankind, 
In  mosque  and  wigwam,  fur  or  clout,  to  find 
New  terms  of  barter  and  new  wealth  to  hoard! 
A  mother-lode,  whose  merest  sweepings  poured 
Across  the  cafion  hrim  like  stars  that  fell 
To  feed  the  placers.. 

You  were  rich  and  well 

And  young.    And  every  trail  and  6Vfm  divide 
Is  beckoning  and  promising.    Why  hide 
It  all,  old~Goldenrod? 

GO^ENBOD:  I  sat  till  dusk 

Beside  the  earth-wounds,  and  the  musk 
Of  spruce  and  orchid  mingled.    Fading  light 
Bound  up  earth's  scars,  and  in  the  cave  of  night 
The  sighing  evening  laid  the  wreck  away. 
"Wait,"  night  and  talking  waters  seemed  to  say. 
I  waited,  faltering  till  the  night  forbade 
My  grasping  what  I  reached.    And  I  was  glad — 
For  I  had  trod  my  summit;  but  the  place 
I  trod  was  stained.    Then,  somehow,  in  from  space 
The  message  and  my  mission  entered  me: 
This  splash  of  gold  and  slaughter  meant  to  teach 
That  gold  was  for  pursuit  and  not  to  reach; 
That  life  was  spun  of  longings,  but  the  gain 
Of  life  was  to  endeavor,  not  obtain; 
That  I  could  serve  and  shelter  all  mankind 
By  mere  withholding  what  they  strove  to  find! 

SONNY: 
I  understand  a  part.    You  are  a  knight — 


THE  GOLDENKOD  LODE  37 

Like  those  in  story-books  who  rode  to  fight 
Dragons  that  came  with  flaming  mouths,  and  burned 
The  little  towns. 


The  dragon's  gold! 

SONNY: 

You've  turned 

Away,  like  those  old  knights,  from  home  and  court 
And  wealth. 

GOLDENBOD: 

And  found,  my  boy,  another  sort 

Of  court  and  wealth,  as  did  the  knights  of  old! 
A  court  where  statelier  tapestries  unfold; 
Where  incense  never  satiates;  and  none 
Are  rich  as  he  who  numbers  battles  won. 

SONNY  : 

I  think  I  understand.    But  can  you  kill 
The  dragon  you  have  buried?    Won't  he  still 
Come  flaming  out  to  burn  the  helpless  folks, 
When  you  are  old  or  gone? 

GOLDENEOD  : 

Sometimes  he  smokes. 

It's  so  tonight.    And  then  I've  wondered  who 
The  hill-gods  would  provide,  or  what  they'd  do 
To  keep  him  smothered,  when  I  didn't  wake 
Some  morning. 

SONNY  : 

Soon  the  summer  rain  would  take 

Away  the  dam  you  helped  the  beaver  make. 


38  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

GOLDENROD: 

Some  straggler'll  find  a  flake  of  gold,  and  so 
Let  loose  the  dragon. 

SONNY: 

Goldenrod,  I  know! 

I'll  watch  the  dragon!     Keep  him  buried  deep 

In  ferns  and  water-lilies  while  you  sleep! 

And  if  he  smokes,  there'll  just  seem  water  mist. 

GOLDENBOD: 

But,  boy,  this  game,  this  watch,  must  stand  until- 
Until— until 

SONNY: 

"Until"  is  far  away. 

But  there  are  knights,  the  fairy-stories  say, 
Who're  watching  still — until 

GOLDENBOD: 

Until  the  years 

Can  post  another  knight,  or  through  its  tears 
The  world  discerns  that  what  seems  yellow  gold 
Is  crimson. 

SONNY: 

And  a  dragon's  blood. 

GOLDENROD: 

Behold! 

The  godful  hills  entrust  the  charge  to  you. 
They  speak  mysteriously,  but  speak  they  do. 
Come,  soldier  mine,  I'll  knot  your  armor  on! 
Your  mantle's  woodland  silence,  and  your  blade 
Of  goldenrod. 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  39 

(He  goes  down  to  the  margin  of  the  pond,  when 
the  Sheriff's  voice  speaks  abruptly  from  the 
gloom  upon  the  trees  at  the  right.) 

We'll  likelier  need  a  spade. 

(The  boy,  already  following  Goldenrod,  hears  him 
and  stops.  Goldenrod,  unmindful  of  the  inter 
ruption,  dips  his  hand  under  the  water  and 
brings  up  a  handful  of  pebbles,  sprinkled  with 
golden  fragments.) 

GOLDENROD  (continuing)  : 

Here,  see  the  dragon-scales  that  shed,  and  so 
Betray  the  monster,  restless  down  below 
On  such  a  day  as  this!     The  woods  are  much 
Too  foul  with  human  thoughts.     His  talons  clutch 
At  hope,  his  nostrils  scent  the  greed  of  men 
Through  all  the  forest  garlands.     But  again 

He's  stupored  now,  and 

(The  Sheriff  has  come  down  to  the  center.  He 
shoves  the  boy  roughly  toward  the  trail.  When 
he  speaks  Goldenrod  notices  him  for  the  first 
time.) 

SHERIFF  (to  the  ~boy) : 

Here,  hit  out  for  home! 

From  now  I'll  play  this  hand  alone.    Go  comb 
Them  dragon-flies  and  what-not  from  your  brain! 
The  game  is  cut-throat  now.    I'll  learn  you  plain 
To  work  your  dad  with  monte. 

(To  Goldenrod):  As  for  you, 

Old  badger,  buryin'  bones  in  holes  won't  fill 
The  bill.    The  lode  is  mine. 


40  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

<*)LDENBOD:  The  claim  is  still 

My  own.    You  do  not  know  its  whereabouts. 

SHEBIFF: 
I  reckon,  yes. 

GOLDENBOD:  We^  where? 

There's  some  as  spouts 

Their  names,  their  own  real  names,  across  the  bar 
'Most  every  time  they're  liquored  up.    You  are, 
Sez  I  to  me — you  are  a  different  brand. 
No  show  to  see  your  cards;  but  I  presume, 
Sez  I,  he's  got  to  talk;  there  isn't  room 
To  hold  that  much  inside  a  locoed  cuss. 
You  thought  you'd  tenderfooted  all  of  us. 
I  went  along  a  ways,  and  doubled  back. 
I  come  still-huntin',  and  I  heard  a  sack 
O'  moonshine,  but  I  know  that  there's  the  lode. 

SONNY : 
The  other  boys — where's  Duke? 

SHEBHTF  :  They  &n  haye  rode 

Half-way  to  town  by  now.    That's  their  lookout. 
The  claim  is  mine.    Hit  out,  I  said!     About 
A  minute  and  I  learn  you  how. 

SONNY:  rn  go, 

I'm  goin',  Dad!     I  honest  didn't  know 

(The  6oy  plods  slowly  up  the  hill  to  the  right, 
getting  scarcely  out  of  sight.) 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  41 

GOLDENROD: 

The  lode's  my  own!     I'm  holding  it,  and  by 
The  district  rules 

The  district,  hell!     Just  try 
To  hold  it  after  this. 

(He  strides  to  the  cabin,  tears  a  sheet  from  the 
book  that  Goldenrod  dropped  in  the  struggle, 
tacks  it  onto  a  tree  trunk  at  the  left,  and  writes 
with  a  piece  of  charcoal.) 

No  claim,  I  guess, 

Is  good  in  these  parts  anywhere  unless 
You  work  the  diggin's  or  you  post  a  sign — 
Location  notice.    Where's  your  own?    Here's  mine! 

(Reading)  : 

"Notice:     I  claim  four  hundred  feet  due  east, 
Four  hundred  west  on  this" — I  might  at  least 
Call  this  claim  Goldenrod — "as  wide  to  north 
And  south,  as  District  rules  provide,  this  fourth 
Of  August,  by  discovery,  made  this  day. 
Jack  Padden." 

(The  boy  limps  back  from  the  right  onto  the 
stage,  absorbed  and  gazing  eagerly  off  the  stage 
to  the  right,  where  a  glow  is  visible  in  the  sky.) 

SHERIFF  (to  the  boy)  : 

Youngster,  did  you  hear  me  say 
Back-trail  for  town? 

I  started,  Dad,  but  there's 
A  fire  along  the  trail,  I  think.    It  flares 
Above  the  treetops. 


42  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

SHERIFF: 

Where?     A  fire? 

SONNY: 

It  s  near. 

GOLDENBOD: 
A  fire? 

SONNY: 

It  seems  along  the  ledge*    Hark,  hear 

The  crackling  now! 

GOLDENBOD: 

No  forest  fire  can  heap 

The  ashes  of  this  day  of  mine  too  deep. 

SHEBIFF  : 
I  reckon  Pinto 

SONNY: 

Yes,  Otero  rode 

Away  with  him  and  said,  if  just  it  blowed 
Northeast  awhile,  they'd  singe  old  Goldenrod 
For  breaking  up  their  sleep.    And  Pinto'd  nod — 

SHERIFF: 

The  ledge,  the  trail!     If  once  the  cinders  take 
The  cedars  where  they're  thickest,  they  will  make 
The  ledge  a  fryin'-pan.    I'll  make  a  break 
For  it. 

GOLDENBOD   (who  is  gazing  up  the  stream  from  the 
right  front)  : 

•        The  trail  is  closed!     A  fir  I  know — 
A  slim  aristocrat  that  used  to  grow 
Among  the  shabby  cedars  on  the  ledge — 


THE  GOLDENKOD  LODE  43 

Just  toppled  in  the  canon  from  the  edge, 
A  flaming  falling  angel! 

SHEBIFF  : 

Angel,  hell! 

You,  both  of  you,  would  like  almighty  well 
To  leave  me  sizzlin'  here  while  you  slipped  down 
Some  gulch  you've  marked,  and  pronto  into  town, 
To  make  a  record  of  this  claim  of  mine 
Before  my  own.    I  reckon  not! 

SONNY  (as  the  Sheriff  rushes  angrily  off  to  the  left)  : 

Dad,  Dad! 
There  is  no  other  trail! 

GOLDENKOD: 

The  dragon's  had 

Its  teeth  in  him,  my  boy!     The  flame's  as  red 
Within  him  as  the  flames  that  blaze  ahead. 
He'll  run  the  gauntlet  safe. 

SONNY : 

But  you  and  I 

GOLDENROD: 
Men  who  are  maddened  pass  where  we  should  die! 

SONNY: 
But,  Goldenrod,  I  am  afraid! 

GOLDENBOD: 

Afraid? 

SONNY: 

Yes,  for  I  know  as  well  as  you  we've  stayed 
Too  long.    The  pine  sap's  dripping.    Let  us  go! 


44  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

GOLDENEOD: 
Where? 

SONNY: 

Surely  there's  a  rock  or  cave  you  know 

Where  we  could  climb! 

GOLDENBOD: 

I  know  of  none. 

SONNY: 

What  made 

That  crash? 

GOLDENBOD: 

A  deer. 

SONNY: 

I'm  frightened. 

GOLDENBOD  (coming  over  to  comfort  him)  : 

You're  afraid? 

There,  boy!     The  woods  are  not  afraid.    The  hills 
Are  never  sick  nor  well.    And  nothing  fills 
The  stars  with  fear  or  gladness.    Only  we, 
Not  tall  enough  to  see  tomorrow,  flee 
And  sob  today. 

SONNY: 

I  do  not  want  to  burn! 

GOLDENBOD: 

Nor  I,  because  I'm  human,  and  I  learn 
Too  dully  from  my  master,  and  resent 
The  hand  that  tears  the  copy-book  I  meant 
So  well,  but  blotted  heedlessly. 


45 


SONNY: 

The  creek! 

The  pool! 

(He  rushes  to  the  water's  edge,  tugging  at  Golden- 
rod's  hand.  Suddenly  a  voice  in  the  background. 
The  smoke  is  dense,  and  the  glow  of  the  fire 
nearby.  The  Sheriff  stumbles  in  from  the  rear, 
feeling  his  way  among  the  tree-trunks,  his 
clothing  smoldering,  his  face  scorched  and 
sightless,  his  lungs  choked  with  smoke.) 

Hello,  hello!     I  heard  somebody  speak. 
Where's  water — water!    Help!    Where's  Goldenrod? 
I'll  give  you  half  the  mine!     I  will,  by  God! 
I  hear  you  talking!    Where's  the  fire?    Which  way? 
Don't  lead  me  back  to  it!     I  will,  I  say — 
I'll  give  you  all  the  mine.    Hello!     I'll  find 
That  cabin,  and 

(He  falls  heavily  in  the  center,  reaching  ahead  of 
himself.) 

SONNY  (underneath  his  breath) : 

It's  Dad!  It's  Dad! 

GOLDENEOD  (the  same): 

He's  blind. 

(The  boy  starts  to  his  aid.) 
Stop!     For  perhaps  the  forces  that  maintain 
The  mountains  gather  up  their  strength  again. 
Of  all  men,  only  that  scorched  moth  has  learned 
The  trust  we  kept,  and  now  his  wings  are  burned — 
Who  knows  how  purposely?    Some  fluttering, 


46  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

Some  moments,  and  the  hurrying  moments  bring 
Cool  silences  to  quench  his  suffering; 
Cool  silences  that  he  must  drink,  and  so 
Forget  forever! 

^ 

SONNY: 

Do  you  mean,  not  go 

To  help  him?  Surely 

GOLDENBOD: 

What  is  sure?  Should  one 

Brief  human  torture  halt  the  wheels  that  run, 
Relentless,  over  beast  and  bird  and  bough 
To  serve  mankind? 

SONNY: 

But  he  is  suffering  now! 

Tomorrow  we  will  make  him  swear  to  keep 
The  dragon  buried. 

GOLDENBOD  (after  a  moment)  : 

There's  tide  too  deep 

And  strong  toward  fellow-men  for  argument 
To  dam.    My  reason  gives.    My  heart  relents. 

(He  fetches  water  in  his  hat  for  the  Sheriff,  and 
the  boy  lifts  the  Sheriff's  head.  Before  the 
water  reaches  him,  the  Sheriff  raises  himself 
on  his  elbow.) 

SHEBIFF: 

Hello,  you  Goldenrod!     Don't  let  me  go 
Back  in  the  fire!     The  mine  Is 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  47 

(He  collapses.  The  man  and  boy,  conscious  that 
his  struggle  is  over,  halt  where  they  stand;  the 
boy,  with  his  head  on  his  knees,  beside  the 
Sheriff's  body;  Goldenrod  not  so  near.) 

GOLDENROD  (gently  letting  the  water  drain  from  his 
hat)  : 

The  hill-gods  take  the  page  they  choose  to  write 
From  our  uncertain,  meddling  hands.    Tonight 
A  parchment's  crowded  with  their  scrip,  and  one 
Bold  stroke  blots  out  disaster.    They  have  won 
Me  back  again  my  citadel,  my  trust 
Unpillaged 

SONNY: 

But  the  forest  fire!    We  must 

Be  quick! 

GOLDENKOD : 

I  had  forgotten  it!     Reprieve 
Was  all!     Can  they  be  jeering? 

SONNY: 

I  believe 

There  must  be  some  trail  down  the  cliff. 

GOLDENROD : 

I  know 

There's  none.    I've  watched  the  mountain-sheep 
Climb  uselessly. 

SONNY: 

The  beaver-pool  would  keep 

Us  till  the  fire  rides  past! 


48  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

GOLDEN BOD: 

Go,  boy,  and  lie 

Beside  the  ouzel-nests  in  spray!    Not  I! 

I  could  not  flinch  and  watch  one  comrade  trunk 

Of  these  decay  in  flame;  or,  when  flames  sunk, 

Crawl  back  to  any  happiness  beside 

The  stumps  that  told  their  martyrdom! 

SONNY  (urging  him  toward  the  water)  : 

So  wide 

And  hot  a  fire  will  leave  no  forest  here. 
The  beaver-folks  will  go.    They  must  be  near 
To  aspen  groves.    We'll  build  another  new 
Home  somewhere  else;  for  then  (hesitating) 

GOLDENBOD: 

Nothing  can  hold 

The  dragon  quiet?    Then  let  the  beast  unfold 
His  wings!     Dragon  and  all  mankind's  distress, 
My  own  oblivion  and  yours,  seem  less 
To  me  than  that  the  pagan  fire  should  claim 
These  patient  woods,  a  sacrifice  to  flame! 
Gods  of  the  hills,  tonight  I  knelt  and  gave 
Thanks  that  you  chose  to  shelter  me  and  save 
Tempestuous  men!     Again  stretch  out  your  hands 
For  me,  if  you  have  hands!     The  forest  stands, 
Older  than  men,  humble  and  vast  and  sweet 
Past  any  man!     No  longings  stir  its  feet 
With  discontent.    It  asks  no  strength  to  meet 
Its  own  defaults,  but  fire  is  on  the  way! 
Gods  of  the  Mountain-Tops,  I  pray,  I  pray! 

(Ooldenrod  drops  to  his  knees.     The  smoke  is 
dense,  and  the  glare  of  fire  has  spread  from  the 


THE  GOLDENROD  LODE  49 

right  to  all  sides  of  the  stage.  The  boy  stands 
in  front  of  him,  staring  at  the  water,  paralyzed 
by  the  man's  intensity.  Suddenly  his  hand  in 
voluntarily  closes  over  his  mouth,  as  if  he  did 
not  trust  himself  to  speak,  his  gaze  still  on  the 
water.  He  has  seen  raindrops  on  the  smooth 
pool  surface.  He  glances  to  the  sky,  back  to 
the  water,  his  hand  extended  in  the  reaction  of 
a  desire  to  call  Goldenrod's  attention.  Finally 
the  whisper  escapes  his  lips.) 

SONNY: 
Rain! 

(Goldenrod  lifts  his  head  and  stretches  his  arms 
to  catch  the  drops,  rising  as  he  does  so.) 

GOLDENEOD  (gently,  and  finally): 
The  rain! 

(The  lights  on  the  stage  are  quickly  dimmed,  and 
then  entirely  eclipsed  in  a  torrent  of  the  rain. 
The  audience  is  conscious  of  rain  on  the  beaver- 
pool  and  little  flood  torrents  down  the  two 
streams.  The  forest  fire  sinks  and  is  no  more 
apparent.  The  figures  are  gone.) 

On  the  dark  stage  the  lighted  oil-paper  win 
dow  of  the  cabin  becomes  visible  in  the  storm. 
There  are  no  other  lights.  The  rain  slackens, 
the  floods  subside,  and  among  the  dripping 
leaves  the  -fireflies  appear  again. 


50  THE  GOLDENROD  LODE 

AN  ELDER  SPRUCE: 

Rain  of  the  night,  raindrops  in  flight, 
Dripping  and  slipping,  erasing  away 
Stains  from  a  crowded  world,  each  in  a  drop  im- 

pearled — . 
Dripping  and  traveling,  what  do  you  say? 

A  YOUNGER  SPRUCE: 

Answer  the  spruce!     For  we  ponder  eternally. 

Fireflies  and  woodbine  and  gray  wolves  and  jnen 
Hunger  and  yearn  and  fly,  here  where  our  needles  lie, 

Soiling  the  woods  till  you  cleanse  them  again. 
Raindrops,  a-pattering,  spattering,  thronging, 
What's  at  the  end  of  the  trail  of  your  longing? 

ELDER  SPRUCE: 

Striplings!     Since  first  summer  showers  burst 

Over  the  uplands  from  ocean-made  mist, 
Raindrops   are    dumb,    unless   something    in    their 

caress 

Comforts    and    answers    the    boughs    they    have 
kissed! 

The  End. 


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